#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back
922 Those who have been in the Grave… Those who begin Today— Equally perish from our Practise— Death is the other way—
XXXIX I MEANT to have but modest need… Such as content, and heaven; Within my income these could lie, And life and I keep even.
113 Our share of night to bear— Our share of morning— Our blank in bliss to fill Our blank in scorning—
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore Has vanquished Flame’s conditions…
135 Water, is taught by thirst. Land—by the Oceans passed. Transport—by throe— Peace—by its battles told—
171 Wait till the Majesty of Death Invests so mean a brow! Almost a powdered Footman Might dare to touch it now!
XXIX THE nearest dream recedes, unreal… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school—boy
A PRECIOUS, mouldering pleasur… To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore… A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take,
714 Rest at Night The Sun from shining, Nature—and some Men— Rest at Noon—some Men—
81 We should not mind so small a flow… Except it quiet bring Our little garden that we lost Back to the Lawn again.
220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?
504 You know that Portrait in the Moo… So tell me who ’tis like— The very Brow—the stooping eyes— A fog for—Say—Whose Sake?
1034 His Bill an Auger is, His Head, a Cap and Frill. He laboreth at every Tree A Worm, His utmost Goal.
